Everything to Me
by afaithfulwriter890
Summary: Daryl and Carol are finally happy. They've found each other, and they've found their new home. But just when things are finally starting to go their way, a new threat appears on the horizon, and it has the potential to destroy everything they've worked so hard to find. CARYL. Sequel to "Amaranthine". Takes place during Season 3.
1. Chapter 1

_Everything to Me - Chapter 1_

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**Welcome to my new Caryl fanfic!**

**For you new readers, THIS IS A SEQUEL TO MY OTHER CARYL STORY, AMARANTHINE. There will be references to that story, as well as original characters that were introduced there. If you want to read this story, I would recommend that you read "Amaranthine" first so you are not confused.**

**This story will deal mostly with the events of Season 3, and maybe Season 4, we will see how that goes.**

**The story will roughly follow the same timeline as the TV show, but things will be different. Overall, all of the major events will still happen, but they will most likely be different, or slightly altered. Some things may come sooner than others, or some things may not happen at all. It just depends on what I feel like including.**

**Warning: this story may contain situations that may disturbing to some readers since this is a Walking Dead story. This story contains a lot of violence, crude and or offensive language, as well as sexual situations. If any of this bothers you, I ask that you either skip those parts, or do not read at all. I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable, nor do I want to offend anyone, but I want to keep this story as realistic as I can, and the human race is known to be very cruel, as demonstrated in the show this story is based off of. I am sorry if anyone is offended or repulsed by some of the things that is included in this story. I felt the need to put this warning here since we are getting into Season 3, which means we will be seeing the Governor, and we all know how he is, and what is capable of. Most of these disturbing scenes will most likely include his character.**

**You have been warned.**

**Thanks for checking this out to all you new readers, and to the ones that read the "Amaranthine", I'm glad that you're back!**

**I do not own the Walking Dead. **

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**Chapter One**

The clattering of pots and plates was beginning to get on Carol's nerves. It had been a few months since they moved into the prison, and since then, they had acquired quite an impressive set of silverware, but that meant that someone had to do the dishes. That task was usually reserved for one of the Greene girls, or one of the prisoners if they did something to piss Daryl or Rick off. However, it seemed that no one was capable of doing the job without causing a ruckus.

Today, Ian was on dish washing duty. Carol felt a little bad for the boy; Daryl still blamed him for what had happened to Carol a few months earlier, and was always giving him disgusting or awful jobs to do. Daryl was hard on all the prisoners (even though they had been with the group for the entire winter, most of the original group still referred to them as such), but he always kept Ian and Tomas on his radar.

After moving into the prison, Carol had watched with delight as Daryl allowed himself to grow closer to the others, especially Rick. The two men were practically like brothers now, and Daryl was Rick's second-in-command. Whenever Rick was out on runs (even though that was primarily Daryl's job), or busy with a very pregnant Lori, Daryl was in charge. And, surprisingly enough, Daryl did not shy away from this new leadership, and took it very seriously. The only down side to Daryl's new responsibilities was that he rarely got to spend time with her anymore, except for when he crawled into bed at night.

Because of this, she was surprised when Daryl came into the cafeteria. He wore a plaid button-down shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of ripped khaki pants. Carol always berated him about his pants that were long past their prime. The group had pants in his size that were fairly intact, but every time she implored him to try them out, he refused. "These're my workin' pants," he would say. "They's already dirty, so why ruin another pair?" Even though Carol longed to get rid of them, she couldn't help but smile whenever he said that; that was her Daryl alright.

As the hunter approached, Carol saw an irritated look in his blue-gray eyes. She knew that the prisoners were probably aggravating him, so she didn't question him about it. She feared that if she did, it would only make whatever anger he was stifling even worse. However, when Daryl grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward the exit, she had to inquire, "Daryl, what's wrong?"

He shook his head and continued to guide her to the door. "We'll be back!" he called over his shoulder to a confused Ian.

Daryl drug her out into the hall just outside the cafeteria. Carol had to jog to keep up with is brisk pace. She soon managed to figure out that he was taking her back to Cell Block C, where the main group had been living for their entire duration of living in the prison. On the way, they passed Hershel, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat as they passed, clearly amused by whatever Daryl's intentions were.

When they reached the cell block, it was empty. Daryl took her to their cell, and let go of her hand when they came to the door. He slipped off his shirt as he entered. It was then that Carol realized what he wanted, and why he had been so urgent to get her here. Daryl turned toward her, his eyes dark with lust. "I'm sorry… I jus'… I need ya, Carol."

Carol nodded. "I'm yours. You know that."

A look of relief crossed his face as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into he cell. Their lips met, and began a frenzied dance. Carol couldn't remember the last time Daryl had come to her with such fire. When he climbed into bed late at night, he rarely felt amorous, and when he did, they were both exhausted, and their exploits never lasted long.

Daryl's hands went to the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Carol pulled away for a few seconds, just long enough for the fabric to be removed before she attacked him again with fervor. His tongue prodded at her lower lips, begging for entrance. Carol granted it, locking her arms around his neck. The hunter groaned as she ran her fingers through her hair. He shoved her up against the wall of the cell, his hands roaming along the planes of her body. He cupped her breasts through the fabric of her bra, making her gasp.

"I ain't… this is gonna be quick," he breathed between their kisses.

Carol shook her head, her hands going down to his broad shoulders, and muscular arms. "S'fine," she breathed.

Her breath hitched as Daryl unbuttoned her pants, his hands shaking with need. He pulled them down, and waited for her to step out of them. Once she'd kicked them aside, Daryl lifted her up, and hitched her legs around his hips. He kissed her again, rougher than before, and Carol matched his feverish kisses, all of her senses absorbed in her beloved hunter.

* * *

They laid on the bunk, a thin blanket covering them from the waist down. Carol was curled into his side, her head resting on his chest. Daryl lazily traced patterns on her back, wearing a silly grin on his face. "I love ya, woman," he said, glancing down at her with affectionate eyes.

She smiled up at him. "I love you too, Dixon."

He smirked at the name and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Sorry I've been so busy."

"It's alright," Carol answered. "I know that you're just trying to help out. I'm proud of you for how well you're doing with the others. You've come so far since the quarry, you know?"

Daryl smirked again. "Thanks ta you."

"No," Carol said shaking her head. "You did it on your own. Maybe I helped, but you were the one that did it. Not me."

"I—"

He was cut off the squealing of an alarm. Daryl leapt out of bed, and pulled on a pair of pants. Carol sat up, wrapping the blanket around her and watching as Daryl swiftly dressed. He grabbed his crossbow from the corner before looking at her. "Stay 'ere," he ordered, walking toward the door. "When the others come, look after 'em, but don't leave unless Rick or I comes and says ta go."

She nodded quickly, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "Daryl!" she cried just as he was about to leave the cell. He looked back at her, his eyes impatient. Carol watched him, fear ripping at her gut. "Please be safe."

Daryl nodded. "You too."

And then he was gone.

* * *

Daryl was just reaching the door that led to the courtyard when Rick, Glenn, Oscar, and Axel burst in. The hunter fell in line next to the sheriff, and they ran toward the area of the prison they called the tombs. "Oscar thinks that it might be Andrew that set the alarm off," Rick informed as they ran. Daryl kept up easily, and could have even passed them up, but wanted to stay with Rick and the others.

"Why?" he asked. Daryl actually kind of liked Andrew; in a way, he reminded Daryl of himself. Andrew was just a misguided kid that had gone down the wrong path, and Daryl could have just as easily been in his shoes before the world went to hell.

"Tomas got to 'em," Oscar answered, breathless. "Tomas hated y'alls… Thought the prison should be ours… Wanted ta run ya out, but none a' us agreed ta help… He kept houndin' Andrew, and I guess the kid gave in. He used to work in the generator room—he knows all the buttons and stuff, so if someone set off the alarm, it was probably Andrew.

Daryl had never been to the generator room before, so he fell back and let Oscar move up beside Rick to help the group navigate. It took them a good ten minutes to get through the tombs and find the generator room. Daryl couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that was rising inside him as they reached the door to the generator room. Something was telling him that whatever waited behind that door was some kind of trap. As Rick kicked open the door, Daryl rushed forward and grabbed his friend by the shirt. The sheriff started to protest, but Daryl slammed him into the wall just as the gunshots sounded.

Bullets blasted into the narrow hallway, slicing through the air where Rick had been standing just seconds before. Daryl pressed himself flat against the wall next to a shocked Rick, who was watching him with a look of gratitude in his eyes. The hunter gave him a curt nod in response, and shifted ever so slightly.

Pain tore through his side, and he knew that he'd been shot. The agony of the bullet ripping through his flesh sent him to his knees. He heard Rick shout his name, but tried to block it out. He needed to focus. He needed to move. If he stayed there, he would get shot again, and this time it could be in a fatal spot. He tried to crawl away from the door, just get out of the sights of the shooters when another bullet struck his shoulder. Daryl collapsed to the floor. He'd been shot before thanks to Andrea, but that had just been a graze. That had been nothing compared to what he felt then. If blood loss and shock didn't kill him first, Daryl was certain that the pain would.

Daryl could hear Rick, Axel, and Oscar shouting around him, but couldn't make out what they were saying. More bullets zipped over his head as the two sides fired at one another. _I gotta help, _he thought. _I gotta…_

He couldn't finish the thought before he got lost in an excruciating abyss of darkness.

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A/N: Well, yeah... That's our first chapter. XD

Did you like this chapter? Please leave a review and tell me what you thought!

**Also, I am open to ideas. If there is something you would like to see happen in the story, PM me, or leave a review with your request, and I'll see if I can fit it in.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Everything to Me - Chapter 2_

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**An exciting beginning to this new story.**

**I don't own The Walking Dead.  
**

**Or Daryl Dixon.**

**Goddammit.**

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**Chapter Two**

Carol was pacing in Cell Block C. Beth, Hershel, Ian, and Ben were standing around stiffly. They were waiting for Lori, Maggie, and Carl to arrive, but they just didn't seem to be coming. _Where are they?_ Carol wondered frantically. _They should be here by now. _She knew that Daryl had given her explicit orders to stay exactly where she was, but she couldn't help but think about how they could be in trouble. _If something happens to them, I'll never forgive myself._

She pulled out the knife that Daryl had given her back by the highway and started toward the door. "Where were they last?" she asked, looking toward the others. "Lori, Maggie, and Carl? Does anyone know where they were?"

Beth stood up. "You're not going to look for them are you? Not by yourself?"

Carol gripped her knife tighter. "Something's wrong. They should have been here by now, and they're not. I'm not going to sit here and do nothing while our people die."

Hershel stood then, and picked up his shotgun. "I'm going with you. Daryl would skin me alive if I let anythin' 'appen to ya."

She smiled slightly, but shook her head. "You don't have to, Hershel."

"Yes," the older man answered, coming to stand beside her. "I do. That's my daughter out there… Plus, I'm not gonna let that young man lose you again—I don't think he'd be able ta take it."

Carol didn't want to think about Daryl having to lose her—she couldn't think about it. She needed to keep her eyes focused on the task. Maggie, Lori, and Carl needed her. She looked toward the others and gave them a nod. "We'll be back as soon as we can, and hopefully, we'll have the others with us. Ian, you're in charge until with come back."

The young man gave her a curt nod, seeming to take that job seriously. He looked toward the others, as if waiting for a chance to demonstrate his new leadership role. Carol forced a smile before leading the way toward the exit of the cell block. She paused at the door, feeling Hershel's eyes on her. _I'm sorry, Daryl,_ she thought, before opening the door. She just hoped that she wasn't too late.

* * *

Rick was pressed flush against the wall. Daryl laid prone and unmoving a few feet away. The sheriff silently cursed Andrew and Tomas, who were hiding inside the generator room like a couple of cowards, shooting whoever came into their lines of sight. Rick could not suppress the fear that was threatening to send him into an all-out panic. If Daryl was dead… He didn't want to think about breaking the news to Carol; the poor woman would be absolutely heartbroken. Rick also couldn't imagine how the prison would function without the loud, erratic redneck. _It wouldn't,_ he thought simply. _It just wouldn't._

"Tomas! Andrew!" Oscar shouted. He and Axel were huddled further down the hallway, away from the door, and out of range. "Give it up, guys! It's no use! These people have been good to us! Don't fuck it up!"

"This prison should be ours!" Tomas yelled back. "It was ours before those assholes came and took it from us! Then these people took it from them. We can take it back!"

"No man, we can't!" Oscar answered. "Just stop it. Put yer guns down, and come out. We won't shoot, I promise."

Rick gritted his teeth together. _If Daryl's dead, none of ya are staying here. Daryl was right from the beginnin'—we shoulda let ya take yer chances out on the road. I shoulda listened ta 'im. I shoulda…_ He closed his eyes and shook his head. _Stay focused._

"Traitors!" Tomas growled. "We already got one of 'em! The other's right there! Shoot him! Help us take back what was ours."

For a split second, Rick was fearful the Oscar and Axel would actually turn on him. Oscar stepped forward, his gun drawn. "Tomas, Andrew, don't shoot," he said. "I'm coming in."

"Stay the fuck back!" Andrew warned.

Oscar pointed his gun at rick. The cop's heart skipped a beat. "I'm on your side!" Oscar told them. "You're right. Maybe we can take this place."

Rick raised his own gun and pointed it at Oscar, in order to defend himself. The prisoner locked eyes with him, and Rick saw something pleading in them, as if Oscar was willing him to understand something. That was when Rick understood: Oscar wasn't having a sudden change of heart; he was trying to make Tomas and Andrew let their guard down. Rick gave him a slight nod, and Oscar proceeded forward toward the generator room, his gun still trained on Rick.

"See?" Andrew called from inside the generator room. "I knew he'd come around!"

Oscar stood about a foot away from the doorway, parallel with Rick. Without warning, he swung his arm around and fired into the room. Rick lunged forward at that moment and fired at a standing Tomas. The bullet hit the man in the chest, sending him crumpling to his needs. Oscar had shot Andrew in the stomach, and the young man was now lying on the floor of the generator room, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his face contorted in pain.

Rick stepped forward, his face hard. Andrew looked up at him with agonized eyes. Rick felt no pity. The only reason he was going to put him down was so the group wouldn't deal with him as a walker. Rick aimed his gun at Andrew's head, and fired.

* * *

Carol and Hershel rushed down the hallway toward the sound of screaming. It sounded like it was coming from the boiler room. The sound of gunshots echoed off the metal walls of the tombs. Carol couldn't tell if they were coming from the boiler room, or from somewhere else deep inside the labyrinth. She was in the lead with Hershel following close behind, but slower. She could hear his labored breathing, but didn't offer to slow time. They didn't have time to slow down.

The closer they got, the louder the gunshots became. They had to be close now—maybe only a minute or two away. Carol rounded a corner only to come face to face with a walker. The zombie was male, and much taller than her. It was dressed in the clothes of a prisoner, and had a large opening in its stomach where some of its intestines hung out. Carol shoved it roughly away from her, but the walker only moved an inch. Still, that was enough space for Carol to raise her knife. She plunged the blade into its eye, and sent it slumping to the floor.

There were more walkers in the hallway, all shuffling toward the sounds of the gunshots. Hershel raised his shotgun and fired. The small herd turned toward them slowly, before staggering toward them at a surprisingly brisk pace. Carol yanked her knife from the prison walker's skull and faced the herd bravely. More gunshots came from back where the herd had originally been headed. They turned again, seeming confused as to which way to go. Hershel fired again, hitting a female walker right between her eyes.

Carol knew better than to rush forward into the herd with just a knife, and without a plan, but she knew that the others had to be on the other side somewhere. The screaming had stopped, and so had the gunshots. That couldn't be a good sign. Hershel kept shooting as the walkers came nearer, and Carol watched them, trying to single out a target. There was one walker that was closer than the others, which she took down with ease; burying her knife in its forehead.

It took Carol and Hershel about five minutes to finish off the rest of the herd. When they were sure that all of the walkers were dead, or at least demobilized, they rushed toward the boiler room that was now accessible. Carol opened the door, and her hand flew to her mouth.

On the floor of the boiler room lay an unmoving Lori in a pool of blood. Her pants had been removed, and there was a large cut in her stomach. Maggie was kneeling in between the woman's limp legs, a quiet, bloody baby in her arms. Carl was standing next to them, his face impassive. Hershel gently moved Carol out of the way and rushed into the room. He knelt beside Lori, and checked her pulse. It only took him about five seconds to shake his head.

Carl took out the gun Rick had given him, and took off the safety. "I got it."

Hershel looked up at him. "Carl, no. You shouldn't have to do it."

"She was my mom," the boy protested, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I can do it. I should do it."

"I'll do it," Carol stated more than offered. She wiped off some of the walker blood on her old sweater and started toward them. "Carl, your mother wouldn't want you to have to do that. Neither would your father. No kid should ever have to do something like that."

Carl narrowed his eyes slightly, but gave her a stiff nod. "Fine." With that, he stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Hershel turned his attention to a crying Maggie, who was still kneeling near Lori, holding a squirming baby girl in her arms. "Sweetheart," he said gently. "You should go make sure Carl is alright."

Maggie looked at him, her eyes clouding over with confusion for a few moments. Then, she nodded, and got to her feet. "O… Okay," she whispered. Carol watched her with soft, sympathetic eyes as the young, shaken girl left the boiler room, her entire body trembling.

"You should go after her," Carol suggested, not even bothering to look at Hershel.

"Carol you should let me do this," Hershel answered.

She shook her head. "I told Carl that I would. Lori would have wanted a friend to do this… I knew her since all of this began… Lori helped me when most people would have turned their backs on me. Before we came to your farm, our group was living at this quarry just outside of Atlanta… My family was there—Sophia and… and my husband, Ed. Ed… was a bad man. He'd abuse me—mentally and physically—and everyone but Lori and Andrea turned a blind eye. Lori would give me medicine to… make the physical pain more bearable. She'd try to comfort me the best she could, and always made sure that Sophia and I were taken care of. Lori had her faults, and she made a lot of mistakes in her life, but she was still my friend. She still looked after me, and I will never forget that. Hershel… I have to do this. For her."

Hershel watched her for a long time before nodding his head. "Okay. I'll be right outside if you need me."

As he left, Carol looked down at her friend. She knew that Lori didn't always make the best decisions, and she had messed things up something awful with Rick. But Lori had always looked after and put her son first. Carol admired that. She knew that Lori would have done anything for Carl, and always went out of her way to help Carol and Sophia.

She took a deep breath and hung her head. Carol squeezed her knife so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "I am… so sorry that this happened to you. I know that you loved your children more than anything… And I know that dying like this—dying so your child could live… I know that this is how you would have wanted to die. You were the closest thing to a girlfriend I ever had… so thank you. For everything. I'll look after them for you—Carl, Rick, and your baby. I'll make sure that your daughter grows up. I'll make sure that she knows who you were, and that she knows what you did. She's going to survive, Lori. I'll make sure she does."

Carol wiped away a tear that had escaped from her eye, and took in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," she said again before sinking her knife into her friend's forehead.

* * *

A/N: Hershel still has his leg by the way. In Amaranthine, there were already people in the prison that had cleared it out, so Hershel never had the chance to get bitten, thus he never lost his leg.

Oh, and during the winter, Daryl has worked with Carol a lot, and has taught her a great deal of self-defense, which shows in the way she is able to take down the walkers.

Review?


	3. Chapter 3

_Everything to Me - Chapter 3_

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**Sorry for the long wait. Finals next week and then I'm free! :D**

**I don't own the Walking Dead.**

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**Chapter Three**

By the time Carol, Maggie, Hershel, and Carl returned to the cell block, Rick, Oscar, and Axel had already arrived. When Carol saw her partner lying motionless on one of the tables, her heart stopped. No, no, no, no, no, no, no… She didn't cry out or rush to his side, she just stood there, frozen in place, her body refusing to cooperate.

Hershel, however, snapped into action. He ran to Daryl's side and began to check his vital signs. It took him only a few moments to say the words Carol had been hoping for: "He's alive." As soon as the words passed from the farmer's lips, Carol felt as if a tremendous weight had been relieved from her shoulders. Yet, she knew all too well that Daryl's status could change, and quickly.

While Hershel was checking Daryl over, Rick had stepped forward. He was staring at Maggie, Carl, and the baby with wide eyes that were filled with tears. "Lori?" he breathed, his voice cracking.

Maggie let out a sob. Her cheeks and eyes were red, and tears were streaming down the sides of her face. She shook her head and clutched the baby closer to her. Rick's breathing became labored as he ran his hands through his hair. "No…" he moaned, turning away from them. "NO!" His voice swiftly rose to a roar as he spun around toward them. Carol jumped out of the way as Rick headed toward the tombs.

"Rick," Maggie sobbed, trying to stop him while still holding the baby. "Rick, no."

The sheriff shrugged out of her hold and disappeared in that direction. Carol watched him go, her heart breaking at the sight. She knew that even though Rick and Lori had many disagreements, Rick never stopped loving her. Even after what happened with Shane, Rick still loved her. Even though he had tried to distance himself from her, but stay there for Carl and the unborn baby, he never stopped caring.

"Carol," Hershel's voice snapped her out of her reverie. "I need you. Quickly."

She went to the veterinarian's side, staring at the redneck she loved. "What do you need me to do?" she asked.

"I need you to get my medical kit—it's in my cell. And then, I'm going to need your assistance. He's been shot twice, once in the side, and once in the shoulder. I'll have to see if there is any shrapnel left in the wound and extract it if there is. Then, I'll have to disinfect the wounds and stitch him up."

Carol nodded determinedly, knowing that her actions may mean the difference between life and death. Without waiting for Hershel to give her further instructions, she rushed off to his cell, her stomach churning with anxiety.

It seemed as if everything they had worked so hard to achieve was finally falling to pieces.

* * *

Merle paced by the gates of Woodbury, occasionally running a hand through his short, coarse hair. He had been waiting there for almost a half hour, and was losing his patience. Martinez and the Governor were supposed to have been there by now, but it wasn't really a surprise that they weren't. Merle had learned very quickly that time meant everything to the inferiors, but nothing to the superiors. The entire town worked around the Governor's schedule. If you of lower-rank than Martinez, or one of the other members of the Governor's inner circle, and you were supposed to wait for him somewhere, than you were expected to do exactly that. However, if the Governor tells you to be somewhere at a certain time, you better be there. You wait for the Governor, he doesn't wait for you.

He had learned that second-handedly after another soldier turned up late for watch. The man—a boy really—had showed up five minutes late to duty, and the Governor had been there, waiting. When the kid finally got there, he gave the Governor his reasoning for being late, and the Governor heard him out. When the boy was done defending himself, he promised the Governor that he would never be late again. The Governor had smiled and said: "You're right. You won't be." And, without warning, Merle had watched as the Governor drew his pistol and shot the boy in the head.

Merle made a mental note to not cross paths with the Governor.

With his military experience and his surprisingly wide array of knowledge, Merle quickly advanced through the ranks until he became one of the men the Governor depended on most. Merle was proud of this accomplishment, but was also relieved. In this way, he was repaying the debt he owed to the Governor.

About a year earlier, Merle had found himself in an unfortunate predicament. Cuffed to a rooftop by a certain cop, Merle had been faced with a difficult choice: cut off his own hand, or get devoured by walkers.

He chose the prior option.

After using a saw to remove his hand and free himself from the cuff, Merle made his way out of Atlanta. He always was a strong man—his younger brother, Daryl, had always viewed him as being somewhat invincible. "Nothin' can kill Merle but Merle," he'd always say. However, after traveling through a city full of walkers and losing a lot of blood, Merle was getting ready to give up and blow his brains out. That was when the Governor found him. Instead of shooting him, as Merle believed he would, the Governor brought him back to Woodbury and, not only saved his life, but gave him a new hand—a knife that a hundred times more dangerous than his fist had been.

Merle would never forget what the Governor did for him, and it way, it frustrated him. It meant that he would always be indebted to the Governor until he find a way to repay him for what he did, which would mean saving the Governor's life in return, but the Governor was always so well-defended that he never needed saving. Even if he ever had the opportunity to save the Governor, Merle wasn't sure if that would be enough—the Governor had given him the blade that now replaced his hand, and that was worth more to Merle than his life. It wasn't another hand, but it was better than a stump. How was he going to pay him back for that? Be at the Governor's beck and call until the day he died?

Woodbury was a good place—it was safe, had ample food and supplies, and it was large enough that no rival groups dared to mess with them. Not only that, but with the walls blocking out walkers, as well as the reality of their situation, it gave the residents of the town a false sense of security. It allowed them to forget the monsters that lurked just outside the wall of semis. And yet, Merle liked it. He liked being safe, and not having to keep looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't going to get chomped on. He had a small apartment all to himself, and a nice bed, and even running water. He had a few women that… shall we say _rewarded_ him for keeping the town safe. For the most part, life was good.

There was just one thing missing: Daryl.

Merle could not stop thinking about his little brother. He had left him, again, and this time with a group of people that had annoyed the hell out of both of the Dixons. Merle knew that he should have tried to go back for Daryl once he got his arm fixed, but he had always found a reason _not_ to go. He told himself that he had to stay to earn the Governor's trust. He had to make sure that the town was as safe as it seemed. He had to make sure that he would have the Governor's support when he brought Daryl back. He was doing it all for Daryl, but while Merle was living a life of luxury, God only knew where Daryl was, and what he was having to do just to stay alive.

It made Merle sick just thinking about it all.

He knew that he should have found Daryl by now, but he hadn't even tried.

_Pussy,_ Merle thought bitterly. _Tha first thang ya shoulda done was go find 'im. Ya already left 'im once, and ya're doin' it again._

"Merle!"

He turned, instinctively putting a hand on the gun at his hip. He recognized the Governor's voice, but reaching for the gun was just a habit. The Governor was striding toward him with Martinez following close behind. "Are you ready to head out?" the Governor asked, walking past him and heading straight for the gate. The Governor was a handsome man with short brown hair, with warm eyes, and a charming voice and smile. Merle didn't really care for any of that—it was all for show anyhow—there was a side to the Governor that the townspeople didn't know about, and that was probably for the best. But it was that side of the Governor that made Merle willing to follow him—it was a strength and a ruthlessness that Merle both admired and feared. The Governor was not afraid to make tough decisions, unlike the people at the quarry. He put his own peoples' needs and their survival above all else. "Humanity won't matter if there are none of us left," the Governor had told him once. "We need to focus on staying alive—that's what's important. We are not responsible for the lives of every rag-tag team of survivors that are going to die anyway—and they will die, it's just a matter of time. When the dead rip them apart, the supplies they carry will be lost or destroyed, or just unused. Or if they do use them, it'll be a waste. It's like medicine to someone with a terminal illness—it's wasteful. Are we wasteful? No, of course not. We save everything, and we will use the supplies those people carry."

"Yessir," Merle answered, with his best "ass-kissing" voice. "Been waitin' fer tha both a' ya."

The Governor nodded, taking a machine gun from one of the people guarding the gate. "Sorry for bein' so late," the Governor said distractedly. "I was… having a conversation with Andrea."

Merle tried to hide his smirk. Ever since that woman and her samurai friend had showed up, the Governor had been spending a lot of time with her. Merle had to admit that he had been glad when they found her at the helicopter crash—it was actually nice to see a familiar face again. In fact, he had thought that he would be able to find Daryl using the information she gave him, but it seemed that they'd left her behind too. Merle had a couple words to say to Officer Friendly if he ever saw him again. It wasn't that he cared that _she_ was left behind—Andrea didn't mean anything to him—it was just that when you're a _group_ and you're trying to survive _together_, you don't leave people behind to die. That goes against the whole purpose of staying together.

Even then, Merle liked the blond woman well enough—she didn't aggravate him most women did, and she was pretty good looking. It was too bad that her girlfriend had to go make such a big deal about things. Just a few days ago, the Governor had decided to allow her to leave, and now, he seemed to be changing his mind.

"Have a good conversation?" Merle asked suggestively.

The Governor gave him a small smile, and that was enough of an answer for Merle. "Where're we headed?" he inquired, watching as the Governor loaded his machine gun.

"Right now, Martinez and I are gonna take a small group to look for another group of soldiers to get supplies from. I want you to take Crowley, Tim, and Gargulio to track down Michonne. She is a threat to our civilization and she must be eliminated. Is that clear?"

Merle nodded. "Yessir."

The Governor nodded. "Good. Now, if you value your life, you won't come back here until she's dead," he warned as the gates swung open.

Merle gave him another nod. He knew that hunting down the samurai was not going to be easy—she wasn't going to go down without a fight. But Merle was up to the task. If he pulled this off, he just might be able to convince the Governor to let him look for Daryl.

* * *

"The baby will need formula, for starters," Carol said. She stood near one of the tables in cell block C. Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Oscar, Axel, Ian, and Ben stood nearby, listening as she spoke. "She'll also need clothes, diapers, and other things, but those are the most important. We're going to have to make a run into town and find these things."

"There's a baby store nearby," Glenn said. "I'll go."

Carol shook her head. "No, you'll be needed here. With Rick… the way he is, and Daryl out of commission, we need someone to stay behind and act as a leader and make executive decisions. I'll go. I know what the baby needs."

"Take someone wit' ya," Oscar encouraged, looking between the two of them. "It's not safe fer ya ta go out there by yerself."

"I can go…" Maggie offered, but Carol was uncertain. The young girl was still hugging herself, obviously nowhere near okay after what happened with Lori.

"You should rest," Carol told her. "Plus, Hershel will need your help to look after Daryl."

"I'll go with you," Ian stated, rising to his feet. "That way, at least ya'll have someone ta watch yer back."

Carol watched the boy with slightly narrowed eyes. The last time the two of them ended up alone, she was taken captive by a crazy man. She wasn't exactly eager to repeat that experience, but things were different now. Ian wasn't their prisoner that couldn't be trusted—he'd proved himself as a valuable member of the group. At long last, she nodded. "Okay. We're leaving in a half hour."

The group dispersed, and Ian retreated to his cell to get his gear. Beth sat down at one of the tables, holding the baby in her arms. Maggie and Glenn hovered nearby, the poor woman crying quietly into her partner's chest. Carl stood just outside of his cell, leaning on the bars, his face unreadable. Carol looked around at her group—her family, and felt a twinge of pride. These were her people, and they needed her.

"Carol," Hershel's voice came from her cell.

She walked to the entrance and peeked inside. Daryl was lying on the bunk, his chest rising and falling steadily. Hershel rinsed his hands off in a bucket of water before turning to her. "I think I've gotten most a' the shrapnel out," he informed her, drying his hands on an old rag. "However, we're gonna to have to watch for infection. I heard that you and Ian are plannin' to make a run into town. I know you're goin' for the baby, but it would be wise to look for some antibiotics as well. We have some here, but not enough if he gets an infection."

Carol nodded and made a mental note to see if there was a pharmacy that had any meds. "Yeah, I'll look around."

Hershel nodded, and pushed himself to his knees, his knees popping. He let out a small groan, and then smiled. "These old bones… it's a marvel I'm still alive."

She smiled weakly. "You're very strong."

"So are you."

Her smile widened. "I better get my things," she murmured, brushing past him. Hershel left her to her thoughts, and Carol began to gather the materials she would need for the run. Every now and then, she would glance over and Daryl's body, and then quickly avert her eyes. She couldn't let his condition distract her—she needed to focus on the mission.

When she was certain that she had everything she would need, she finally faced him. Her heart broke at the sight of him. It was surreal to think that her strong, loveable redneck that seemed invincible could ever be hurt let alone lying in a bed unconscious from his injuries. She knelt down beside the bunk and took his massive hand in hers. Her hunter had bandages around his shoulder, and his side where he had been shot, and he looked surprisingly weak and helpless lying there.

Carol raised his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it softly. "Hang in there for me, pookie," she whispered. "I have to go get things for the baby, and find you some medicine. Then, I'll be back. I promise."

With that, she leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. She gave him one last loving look before leaving the cell. Little did she know, it would be a long time before she got to see her beloved redneck again.

* * *

A/N: So Merle POV! :D I love Merle so much, and since Daryl is going to be unconscious for a bit, his POV will have to go over to his big brother. XD

As you can see, I've altered the timeline, as I did in the previous story. Since Daryl is injured and Rick is unstable, Glenn had to stay behind to look after things, and Maggie was really in no condition to make a run, and Carol had never gotten lost in the tombs so... This is the result. I hope you like it.

Please leave a review and tell me what you thought! They're like candy! :D


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